It was post meridian by the time we undertook our retreat homeward bound along the Appleton Side Road. The shimmering cornstalks rose high in the fields, blustering and sparkling in the fierce but balmy summer breeze. The Sunday morning mission had been to Grace in the Kitchen for a collection of gourmet delicacies.

Our departure to the kitchen store – which did not open until 11:00 am on Sunday morning – was preceded by a diverting cycle about the neighbourhood. We have lately initiated an agreeable alternate route. It is along newly constructed avenues which are flat compared to the hills descending to the river nearby where we live.

The immediate destination on home territory this afternoon was Equator Café. I required my quad espresso, an addiction I felt justifiably deserved after such a fruitful beginning. In the Café we joined our former neighbours Tony and Theresa. The conversation quickly elevated to rapturous detail, referencing community from long ago, artwork, engraving and personalities (in addition, I might add, to some rather flavourful medical intelligence).

While immersed in this riveting dialogue, the focus suddenly switched upon arrival of our server with coffees and a treat. When my partner expressed wonder upon discovery of a fried egg atop his salmon toast, the server instantly assumed what I perceived to be a welcome though highly unusual absorption in the success of the retail endeavour. She made it infinitely clear that if the plate were not entirely to his liking, she would be pleased to regroup. Bu there was no need! The concluding report from my partner was a knockout.

What interested me following this direct exchange was the authority by which the young server might claim conversance with the matter. Frankly I am unaccustomed to such noteworthy retailing. She speedily recounted her black sheep quality compared to that of her brother (who apparently – or jokingly – is aiming to practice medicine or some such celebrated pursuit). What followed was a proclamation I hadn’t anticipated. She disclosed her devotion to writing; in particular, non-fiction. I was dumbfounded! When I then shared with her my personal interest in writing, we discovered that she and I share the identical incapacity or desire for fiction. Apart from her literary skill (about which I know nothing), I am convinced of her business sense. She had that revealing voice of an owner. It didn’t entirely surprise me because in this very accomplished local enterprise there are other equally committed staff. It was the added icing of the literary vernacular that especially occupied me. Either way, I am convinced that she’s got what it takes – including a humorous notion of artists and artistry in general!

From this “comfortable pew” – forgive me, I can’t resist the Sunday euphemism – I fortuitously received an invitation from my erstwhile physician to venture an afternoon swim. It was the work of a moment to accept. Once poolside we quickly embraced a wandering discussion of local, national and international affairs. I especially recall meaningful references to Granada and the desert (unrelated naturally).

In deference to my erstwhile physician, I apologize for the repetitive theme of the ideal summer day. Nor is it a ratification I take lightly. By way of defence I recall the unintended allusion made by our barista this afternoon – a reference to the demanding production of a daily blog. Living in a world of non-fiction, limited by age, the reasonable scope for daily mixture is admittedly limited. In any event, it is as a matter of record that I wish to relate the unqualified character of these inexpressible summer days.